


Young + Menace

by shvtgunsinners



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe, Camp Half-Blood (Percy Jackson), Camp Jupiter (Percy Jackson), Dallon Weekes - Freeform, Gen, hayley williams - Freeform, implied pete and gabe, unfortunately brendon urie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:14:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27962117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shvtgunsinners/pseuds/shvtgunsinners
Summary: Joe wiped his hands on the back pockets of his jeans. "That wasnotthe summer I signed up for."Pete turned from the edge of the cliff, tears streaming down his face. "No shit Sherlock.""I don't think any of us signed up for this." Mikey joined Pete, and their tears mirrored each others. "Let's just hope they-"Pete pushed Mikey. "No. I'm going down to the fucking underworld, and bringing him back, and Frank is gonna help.""Woah, why am I getting dragged into this? Mikey should help!""He was your boyfriend!""Not formally! We only made out twice! And we go to different camps.""So?""That doesn't make him my boyfriend! And it seems like I'm fraternizing with the enemy!"Pete pointed back at the cave. "And he isn't the enemy?"--An au based on the fact that I love Percy Jackson and a few bands way too much.
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way, Mikey Way/Pete Wentz





	Young + Menace

**Author's Note:**

> hello! i'm twitter and ao3 user shvtgunsinners, aka alex! i pretty much never finish any books, so i'm hoping this one will be a breakthrough, as i have plans for it to become a series.
> 
> some things:  
> \- i have messed around with the ages so they work better, so patrick, frank, pete, joe and andy are all 15; gerard and ray are 16; mikey and hayley are 14; and brendon, spencer and ryan are 17. other minor characters (such as gabe, jon, ect.) fit somewhere in the age range or are otherwise specified  
> \- i'll update as often as i can  
> \- the povs switch each chapter  
> \- it is based in the percy jackson world, and characters & events are referenced, but they are't always relevant to the plot  
> \- i tend to make references frequently, and they're not always great, so i'm gonna work on that aswell
> 
> so yeah, think that's it, and i hope you enjoy it! comments (good or bad) are appreciated, and yeah, feel free to find any of my social media accounts so you can try to annoy me if you feel like it - y'all are very cool for reading this, and i love and appreciate you very much!
> 
> twitter - shvtgunsinners  
> instagram- carpaltunneloflxve

Look. This guy called Patrick Stump is a demigod. Did he ever want to be? No, and to be honest with you he hadn't heard of that word before a year ago when Pete dragged him all the way from Chicago to Long Island last summer after being chased cross-country by monsters, and some evil ice-cream that Patrick wasn't even sure was real. Now he trains, and trains, and trains all day long, occasionally sleeps and goes to school during the main terms when he isn't at Camp Half-Blood. He's battled fire-breathing scorpions, monsters that made Pete crap his pants, and things that Patrick was 99% sure he imagined. But the last day before summer break was the worst day he had ever experienced. And that was before the last lesson of the day.

So much was riding on Patrick that day. Surviving it meant that he would have been at a school for just over a year without blowing it up, without accidentally breaking someone's leg with a basketball, without getting suspended, without any detentions or bad reports from teachers. That was what was on his mind when his mum slid a plate of pancakes in front of him, and he smiled gratefully at her. His father figure was sat at the other end of the table, and looked over his coffee with a don't-bother-me expression. You know, the one that people tend to favour in the morning before they have coffee or an alcoholic drink. Anyways, Patrick's dad (? stepdad? half-dad?) was not impressed with the fact that Patrick's pancakes were purple and blue. Years ago, when Patrick was eight, his mum and stepdad had an argument over the fact that no naturally occurring substance was blue or purple, so naturally, his mum had decided to go out and buy blueberries and blackberries as often as she could The two of them also planted a blackberry bush and a blueberry bush in their small patch of dirt, which surprisingly grew the two plants. It was their little way of saying miracles could happen. If we can grow blackberries, Patrick can make it through the last day of the school year.

"Last day of school, huh?" His stepdad asked, and Patrick nodded, hesitantly at first. The relationship had never been great to start with, but since his dad had found out Patrick wasn't his biological son like Kevin was, it had been even more strained. It's not like either one of them was exactly rushing to repair it. Patrick made a mental note to himself that if he didn't die this summer, he'd try and mend the relationship. If he died, well then, that might make that task slightly more complicated.

"Yep, and Patrick's gonna do great, right?" His mum said, and they smiled warmly at each other.

"I'll try my best. Oh, I meant to tell you." Patrick took a bite of his pancake, and swallowed it before continuing. "Me and Pete will be off to Camp tonight, so you don't have to worry about me anymore." His mum's smile wavered.

"Camp? Science camp?" Patrick's brother looked up from his phone. "Athletics camp?"

"Hilarious." Patrick replied monotonously.

What kind of camp then? Poetry? Well, that depended on whether the Apollo cabin was annoyed or not. No, he went to a camp called Camp-Half Blood, which you would know if you paid attention earlier. It was a camp for people like him, for demigods. A safe space, if you would have it, where they could focus on things other than getting chased by monsters and potentially killed by them. They stayed for at least the summer, trained, occasionally went on quests supplied by the ever helpful oracle known as Rachel Dare, and then made it home before school started. Sounds simple, and cosy, right? Well, that's what Patrick thought when he heard about it, but then he played capture the flag and then became convinced that he was going to be the first person in history to die from playing that game. Or at least seriously injured.

"What do you mean you're going tonight?" His mum looked worried. "You're going tomorrow. Your stuff isn't even packed yet, and you haven't said goodbye to anyone."

"Technically I said goodbye to Megan yesterday, and I'm saying goodbye to Kevin and the rest of you now." Patrick stood up and walked over to the sink, where he put his empty plate. "And I packed yesterday. You helped. And I'm taking the stuff to school in my backpack today."

His mum sighed, smiled tightly, and walked over to Patrick, hugging him tightly. "Well have fun Patrick. Stay safe, and we'll see you when?"

Patrick wriggled out of her grip, and kissed her cheek lightly. "A day before school restarts. I promise I won't get kicked out of school this time. See you Kevin."

Kevin lifted his other hand and then went immediately back to texting. Or tweeting. Whatever it was, it took up a lot of his time.

Patrick lingered at the table, shuffling from foot to foot, and watched his dad's eyes flick to him and then back to his paper. "Is there something you want?"

Patrick frowned, and slung his bag on his back. "No, I guess not. See you."

"Goodbye Patrick." He didn't even look up, and Patrick left the house, locking up behind him for the last time.

Patrick walked down the familiar paths and sidewalks, and stopped by the bus stop to wait for Pete, anxiously checking his watch every three seconds, on average. Pete arrived at exactly the same time that the bus did, his clothes looking like he had slept in them and his tie askew around his neck, only half tied. His blazer was only on one arm, flapping around his back, and his top three buttons were either missing or not done up. But it didn't matter to Patrick because Pete was finally there. Together they boarded the bus, and after they sat down, Pete turned to Patrick and held his arms out. Patrick rolled his eyes, pushed his glasses up his nose again, and started to sort out Pete's uniform for him; straightened his tie; made sure his buttons were all done up (as it turned out, Pete was only missing one button from his shirt); the usual routine he had fallen into this year. Pete pulled a comb out of his bag and handed it to the slightly shorter boy, who started to comb his hair, trying to untangle the knots that Pete still had in from sleeping in hair gel without pulling too much out.

"So you have enough time to make your eyeliner perfect every morning, but can't get dressed properly?" Patrick asked, slightly annoyed at the fact that Pete had just pulled a cereal bar out of his bag. "Or eat."

"I did eat!" Pete protested, his voice muffled. "I brought extra so we wouldn't have a relapse of last year. And of course my eyeliner is perfect. It makes up at least 55% of my personality."

"Stop making self-depreciating jokes about yourself Pete. They aren't at all true." Patrick collapsed back into his own seat and handed Pete back the comb. "Don't remind me about last year. We could just get someone to drive us to Long Island instead of calling taxis and looking like we're running away."

Pete's eyes glistened. "And where would the fun be in that?"

"Y'know, for a child of Hermes, your idea of fun isn't the same as mine. And sometimes when you say fun you mean 'hey, let's go and blow something up accidentally and break your wrist in the process!'."

"It wasn't on purpose." Pete muttered, and the smiled brilliantly. "Would you rather I was a child of Athena? One who solves every single problem, no matter how small with logic and precision? Or a child of Demeter, who can grow plants and tend farms."

"If it meant that I wouldn't die, maybe."

Pete stood up and went into the aisle, and leant against a pole. "If I was a Goddess, even just for one day-" He started to sing and Patrick tackled him back to his seat.

"Calm down Odysseus." He smiled widely. "Shakespeare even."

"Why'd you change it Trick?" Pete pulled a dashing smile, the kind he used on the women who drove the cabs that he flirted with. "Odysseus suited me more."

"Yeah well, both you and Shakespeare wrote poems. The only difference was that Shakespeare's were read by people other than the people who still use LiveJournal." Patrick sneaked a half smile at Pete. "Did Gabe read the ones about him anyway?"

"Of course not." Pete almost snorted, but Patrick heard the hurt in his voice. "Why would he?"

Patrick turned to the window, and watch the streets and houses pass by. "Do you think we'll get a quest this year?" He muttered, almost to himself.

"I wouldn't bet on it Trick. It is our second year, and they'll probably pick someone more 'experienced'." Pete bunny-eared experienced with his hands. "If we behave this year we might get one next year."

"You say we, but who's idea was it?" Patrick grinned in the window at Pete, and met his eyes. For a second, Patrick thought he saw, no, it couldn't have been. It was just a trick of the light, or the shadows. That's what he told himself anyways.

"Okay, it was my idea." Pete replied, and grinned back. "But we wouldn't have gotten caught if you hadn't sneezed!"

"I can't control when I sneeze!" Patrick protested as the bus stopped, and they both got off as soon as they could, before walking through the gates for the last time.

Andy Hurley, their great friend and guide, was waiting for them, nervously chewing on a packet of chips. The wrapping, not the actual food, which was an improvement from the tuna tins he used to snack on, before he started to go vegetarian and eventually vegan. You see, Andy's a saytr, which means that he has horns growing somewhere in his hair,hooves instead of feet, and goat legs instead of human legs. Patrick pointed this out to Andy once, and asked him why he didn't do P.E. like a 'normal' teenager, to which Andy replied, 'What is normal? Is it what the media tells us what we should look like, what we should eat, what we should wear, what our mental and physical disabilities should be? For in that case, none of us are normal.' and then stalked off to the side of the hall to watch everyone else play basketball, leaving Patrick confused until... well, he was still wondering what Andy meant on that last day of school, a year and a half later. Andy started to limp over to both him and Pete, fake feet threatening to fall off, and hit Pete upside the head lightly. 

"Ow!" Pete rubbed his head as Patrick tried his hardest to swallow down his laughter. "What was that for?" They all walked into the main building and down the hall.

"You're late! Again! Pretty much every day this year!" The three of them stopped by Pete's locker as he emptied all his books into his bag. "And all you can say is ow?"

Patrick put his hand on Andy's shoulder in an attempt to calm him down. "To be fair Andy, you had just hit him. And Pete promises to be on time next year, right?"

Pete rolled his eyes. "Fine I'll try to be on time for both of yours sake."

"Andy, do you accept Pete's apology?"

"Yeah, I guess I do." Andy looked nervously at the bell. "But we should get going. The dragon will kill us if we're late again." They all rushed as quickly as they could down the hall, and made it in their seats moments before the dragon walked through the door.

"HEY PATRICK!" Someone shouted during P.E. "CATCH!" The same person threw a ball at him, and he held his hands out in front of his face instinctively. Of course, it still managed to hit his glasses, and sent them flying across the gym. He sighed and threw the ball back in the direction it came from, before trying to find his glasses with the help of Pete, and hoping that he wouldn't need any more sellotape to fix them with. Only one more lesson, and then he was free. Well, freer anyway. If it was knife throwing, or fighting, Gods, then Patrick wouldn't be all that hopeless. It wasn't that he was rubbish at P.E.; he just had to pretend so that no-one picked on Andy anymore than they already did. Andy would never admit it, but he did seem to cry quite a bit about what happened to him, and he was grateful that Patrick was helping to alleviate the amount of bullying he faced. Sure, Andy felt terrible that it was at Patrick's expense, but Patrick didn't cry about it. Just took it as a part of life. Andy wasn't sure whether that was better or not.

But anyways, of course the teacher didn't notice that anything had happened, and the laughing wasn't stopping, and Patrick really just wanted to leave. He thought about laughing along, which would certainly stop the laughing in the first place, but it would just seem odd, as they were laughing at his misfortune. They thought that they were entitled to laugh at everyone else, for the simple reason that the laughers had summer houses in Europe, or the West Coast that they'd be going to over the next few days. Well, being rich didn't exactly prevent them from having to go to a school that Patrick had heard his stepdad refer to as a "correctional facility", which confused Patrick. He knew he had been to pretty much every school in the area, but he didn't realise it was that bad? Anyways, just because the rest of Patrick's grade didn't have as much money, or two houses didn't mean they weren't better than the others. And that's the reason that Pete says 'eat the rich'. 

The last lesson eventually rolled around, and Patrick thought that sleeping would be a better idea than doing the work and paying attention. It wasn't exactly his fault; the dragon droned on, and on, and on. He was getting bored. Plus learning about the dead Presidents in a stuffy classroom didn't help matters all that much. If only Chiron taught him History and Latin. Before Percy left, He told Patrick that Chiron used to host sword fights during class. That would have been much cooler. Chiron was the camp activities director, and Percy Jackson is one of the coolest people to exist according to Patrick, beaten only by Nico Di Angelo.

"Sorry miss, can you repeat the question please?" Patrick lifted his head off of the cool textbook, and the rest of the class whispered to each other.

"Of course Patrick." She said with a faint Italian accent, smiling devilishly at him. "Who were the president's who have been assassinated? And where?"

"Kennedy, in his car in Dallas, and Lincoln, at Ford's theater." Patrick answered, and Pete gave him a thumbs from across the room.

"Surprisingly correct. Next time call me Miss S please."

"Sorry." Patrick made a slight face at her back, and watched Pete try not to laugh on the other side of the class. How Pete saw, Patrick had no idea, but Patrick didn't understand a lot of things that Pete said or did, and he had learnt not to question him because that was even more confusing. Patrick put his head back down on his hands on the desk, and tried to concentrate.

The last twenty-three minutes and fifteen seconds (according to Patrick's watch) of history had been the most excruciating in his life. He had actually felt himself doze off at one point, and physically shook himself to wake up. Thankfully no-one saw, not even his partner who was softly snoring on his side of the desk and dribbling on the table a little. The bell rang like lightning through the quiet classroom and he snapped up, straight to attention, muttered something, and fell back asleep. Patrick nudged him with his elbow, but all he did was mutter something about 'five more minutes ma' and dribble more. Patrick shrugged his shoulders, and packed his books up, going so slowly to annoy Pete, who had walked over to his desk.

"C'mon Patrick." He whined, and then poked Patrick's partner. "Why is Ryan asleep?"

"Ask him." Patrick watched Ryan's blue hair rise and fall with his breaths. "I've already tried. It's useless. Let's just go."

"See you miss." Pete winked at her, and stood by the door.

Patrick smiled and nodded at her. "Thanks."

"Could you stay behind please Patrick. Tell Pete to wait outside." Miss S answered from under her desk, and Patrick looked at Pete with worry on his face. Pete smiled encouragingly, and walked down the corridor to Andy's class, the door slamming softly behind him. He leant against the lockers, and Andy creased his eyebrows.

"Where's Patrick?"

"Still in there. Talking to the teacher." Pete and Andy walked back to the class, where Andy tried to open the door. It was stuck. "Kinky."

"No, it isn't." Andy kept trying the door, and when it wouldn't open, slammed his head against it, muttering a fair choice of swear words.

"Woah Andy, what's up? If he's getting some action, leave him. We all knew it wasn't you getting it first." Pete grinned.

"Can you stop it!" Andy turned to Pete. "This isn't a joke! He could be in serious trouble, and you're- you're- you're making stupid jokes."

"What do you mean?" The twinkle in Pete's eye had gone. "Tell me everything. He could be in actual trouble?"

Pete may have been flawed, but he cared deeply for his friends and would fight to the death for them. And Patrick in trouble? He was the least likely to get arrested out of all of them. If anything had happened, what could Patrick have done? Andy opened his mouth to say something, but a crash echoed from down the hall, and in the classroom, a similar echo occurred. Something big was walking down the corridor, it's breath's hitching with every thud of its footsteps and lockers crashed to the floor. The heat in the corridor increased by about ten degrees, and only continued to rise. Andy could feel the sweat beading on his forehead. Pete's hand went to his hip, and pulled his sword out from his jeans, Andy cowering behind him, and waited for the monster to appear.

"What did you want me for?" Patrick leaned against the front desk, and his teacher came out from behind her desk and reclined against her own desk. "Am I in trouble?"

"Only with my boss." Miss S replied. "I wanted to ask you something actually."

Patrick noticed that her 's' was pronounced in an unfamiliar way to him. "Anything."

"Have I every told your class that I have sisters? And that one of them was..." Her lips pursed together, and she said the word sourly, almost spitting it out. "Cruelly murdered. Executed, one might say. By her ex's son."

"Gods, that's horrible. Was he arrested?"

"Of course not. She was as beautiful as the morning sun, but as cruel as the hunter who cooks their prey alive." She turned around, and started to unravel her headscarf. "It's interesting though. It was your father who was her ex, so your brother who killed her."

"Kevin? He could only kill her in a game of chess when he loses." Patrick glanced at the door.

"Your other brother you stupid child." Miss S hissed, and Patrick's hand inched toward his lower back, where his dagger was strapped tightly to his spine. "And seeing as we can't find your dear brother or father, you'll do instead."

She launched at him across the desk, and he yelped and jumped out of her way, trying to pull his dagger out of its scabbard. It was stuck. Patrick needed a distraction before his teacher pulled herself out of the wreckage that was once where Pete sat. Nothing came to mind, apart from a bunch of insults in Greek, which was more likely to make her angrier than distract her.

"Who even are you? A cyclops I'm guessing by the way you're stumbling around." Patrick tried to annoy her, hoping to dear Zeus that she would take the bait.

She hissed, and bared her fangs at him. "Simple child. What do they teach you at that camp? I am Stheno, sister of Eurayle and Medusa, cursed by the oh so wise Athena and i am famished for the salty taste of your blood!" She lunged at him again, and he once again dodged, meaning she went straight into the bookcase, various textbooks and encyclopedias raining on the top of her head, her coppery snake hair hissing angrily at him.

"I thought you were all dead!" Patrick barely dodged the book aimed at his head, and finally pulled the dagger free from his back.

She laughed, and the snakes on her head joined in, a gospel choir that made Patrick want to bury himself alive. "Dear boy, we are immortal. We will be here until after you are long gone. Even Tartarus cannot hold us for long." Patrick threw his dagger at her, but it just bounced off of her breasts.

"Plan B then I guess." Patrick launched himself at Stheno, tugging at the thin celestial bronze and stygian iron necklace around his neck.

Stheno had no idea what Patrick was doing, and to be completely honest, he had no idea what he was doing either. Her reactions weren't fast enough for her to stab him in the back with his dagger as he leapt over her head and landed squarely on her shoulders. He placed the chain around her neck and crossed it over each other, tightening as he did so. Stheno pulled at the chain, and staggered all across the room as she tried to shake him off. She fell into the desk, breaking it as she did, and to the floor as they each struggled for power over the other, kicking and struggling for breath as they did so. Stheno plunged the dagger into Patrick's leg and he clenched his teeth against the pain. She pulled it out and stabbed it back in again, blood matting the rip in his jeans.

"You think this will change anything?" She wheezed. "Your camp will be in flames by the end of summer. Everything you love will burn. A-" She gasped for breath. "A friend of yours will makes sure of that."

Patrick loosened his grip momentarily. "What do you mean?"

She grinned, her teeth stained with drying blood, and punched Patrick square in the jaw. "You'll find out soon enough. Trust no-one Mr Stump." Patrick noticed her fanged teeth were glinting in the afternoon sun. "Your camp will burn, and you will be at the helm. We'll meet again soon enough, for you will bring me back, and you will help with the destruction of the Gods."

"Then it will be in Hell that we meet again. See ya." Patrick matched her bloodstained grin, and felt it drip down his chin. He guillotined her head off, making a slightly satisfying sound as it did so, feeling her body turn to dust under him.

Ryan's head snapped up from the only unharmed desk in the room like a jack in the box, took one look at Patrick and the room, before starting to scream. He picked up his bag with everything in it, and ran towards the door. Into it to be exact. He fell onto his ass, and got back up as quickly as he could, pulling the door open and running down the corridor like a manticore was on his tail, screaming loud enough to wake the dead.

Pete and Andy ran in, breathless and panting. "Monsters. In. The. School." Pete knelt by Patrick's head, and closed his eyes.

"Never would have guessed Pete." Patrick reattached the chain to his neck, tried to stand up, but fell down again.

Andy stood by Patrick's feet and look him dead in the eyes, no laughter in his face. "It seems that you have a dagger in your leg."

"No shit Sherlock." Patrick sat up, and pulled it out of his leg. The blood flowed like Niagra Falls, thick and fast, but Patrick didn't seem all that worried. In fact, he felt a short sharp sensation of glee as he did so.

"What did you do that for you idiot?" Pete reached into his bag for a flask of nectar, while Andy stood above them, looking like he was about to retch. "I'm no doctor but I'm sure this will work."

He poured some nectar on his hands, and started to move his hands toward the cut. Patrick put his hand on Pete's. "Leave it."

"But people will ask questions. I have to at least bandage it." Pete looked at Patrick with worry in his eyes. "Please."

Patrick sighed and relented, letting go of Pete's hand. "Fine. But no Ambrosia. It was just a bad trip. I woke up on the wrong side of reality."

"It's wrong side of the bed Trick." Pete tightened the bandage as much as he could without hurting Patrick, and pulled him to his feet. "Wrong side of the bed."

"Woke up on the wrong side of reality." Patrick grinned toothily at Pete, and limped out of the room, backpack secured on his back and blood trailing down his leg.

The three of them walked out, two of them limping, and watched the scene. An ambulance had turned up, and a paramedic was trying to talk to Ryan, who was sat on the floor, rocking back and forth, trembling. He saw Patrick, pointed at him and uttered a long string of garbled words that no-one could understand. The paramedic didn't even look up from Ryan, and went back to comforting the guy as soon as his radio stopped blaring out instructions.

"What happened to him?" Andy muttered, looking like he about to pass out.

"The human brain can't comprehend some things." Pete said matter-of-factly. "C'mon, let's go."

Patrick grabbed Pete's arm. "Can't we do anything to help him? Why don't you care?"

"I do care, but we can't help everyone. Unless you're suddenly related to Dionysus, there's nothing we can do. And the last thing I remember about your father is absolutely nada." Pete hissed at Patrick. "He's not even a demigod, so Dionysus wouldn't care. He'll be sent to a mental hospital and recover like a normal person. Now come on."

In fact, Ryan did go to a mental hospital, and is still there, even now. His mum gave up on visiting three days after visitation was allowed, and his best friend came to see him every day. A boy by the name of Dallon Weekes. But none of this is relevant to this particular storyline yet, so I'll leave it here and get back to the actual story.

Patrick sulked down the street behind Pete and Andy, who was scared out of his skin by what Ryan had been doing. Could something like that actually send someone mad? What had Ryan seen in the fire? What had Pete seen in the fire? Whatever it was, Pete wasn't about to tell anytime soon, but it must have been bad because he hadn't made a joke about it at all. It was Patrick who eventually broke the silence, limping down the street.

"Where are we going?" He asked, and Pete stared straight forward, unblinking.

"Away."

"Pete, we've been walking for ten minutes. We aren't walking to Long Island are we?" Patrick blinked.

Pete turned around and pushed Patrick down the nearest alley. "Listen Patrick, I know what I'm doing. You have a problem with it, you're welcome to make your way to Long Island alone, and not expect any help from us."

Patrick grabbed Pete's collar, and pushed him to the other wall. "Listen, _Pete _, I just fought a fucking gorgon, by myself. I'm exhausted, hungry, and my leg is going to give out under me. So you can make your way to Long Island alone if you feel like it, but I'm calling a taxi soon, whether you like it or not. And when you pushed me against that wall, I thought that you were..." Patrick shook his head, but his eyes still blazed with anger. "Never mind.So tell us please, what the hell we're doing, or I will call a cab and leave you."__

____

Andy looked from Pete to Patrick, and back again, and again. If there was a full on fight, Andy would become Switzerland, and be neutral. These were his best friends, his only friends really, and he wasn't prepared to pick sides between them.

____

Pete looked as his feet. "Let me go." He whispered, and Patrick let his collar go. "We should get to a main road, and then call a cab. I don't want to get jumped or anything." Pete looked at Patrick, and Andy could have sworn that something passed between the two. "I forgot about your leg Trick. I'm sorry."

____

The three of them walked down the road, Patrick in the middle supported by Andy and Pete. Pete was disturbingly quiet, lost in thought, but Patrick was enjoying the silence. Until they got to a main road. The air was filled with the sound of car horn blaring and people walking along the pavement. Patrick looked around in a daze, unsure of what to do, when Pete held his hand out, and shouted for a taxi. One soon pulled over, and a young woman chewing gum rolled down the window.

"Get in." She nodded her head towards the back seat. "And fast, or I'll pick someone else up."

Pete ushered Patrick and Andy in, and then slid in the back. "How much to get to O'Hare?"

"$45."

"It's always been $40 though!" Andy protested.

"Listen kid." The cabbie looked back in the mirror. "I ain't asking no questions. I can always pull over right now, and then you'll have a hard time trying to actually get another cab. So whadda say?"

Andy grumbled to himself. Pete pulled his bag onto his lap, and started rifling though his bag for the tickets. Patrick tried to stretch his legs out, but hit his cut on the back of the passenger seat, and bit down hard enough on his tongue to draw blood. The rest of the time in the car was filled with silence, and Pete looked out the window with a sort of troubled interest in the trees and sky, the cars going the opposite way looking like they were travelling a million miles an hour. The cab pulled up outside of the airport, and Pete shoved the $45 dollars through the hatch at the driver.

"Thanks." He said hurriedly and then the three of them rushed through security, baggage checks, and check-in, finally collapsing in their seats with five minutes left to spare.

Patrick was sat at the end of the aisle, and was watching the air hostess warily as she wandered up and down the aisle. _One of these days someone is gonna ask why we're not with our parents and- ___

"Are you alright sir? Would you like me to put your bags up in the overhead compartment for you?" She leant over him.

"Yes please." He smiled gratefully at her, and passed her his bag.

She closed the compartment. "Where are your parents?"

_oh shit oh shit_

"They're in first class. Courtesy of work. They don't always like associating with us in public." Pete flashed her a dazzling smile from the middle seat.

She left to help another passenger, and Pete turned to Patrick. "Hey. You should get some sleep. You like like you're gonna faint."

"I'll be fine. Just gonna. Shut my eyes for a second." Patrick yawned, rested his head on Pete's shoulder, and within minutes was asleep.

Andy watched Pete's fists clench and then release after the plane took off, and watched Patrick move his hand to his waist, where Andy presumed there was another knife. He was settling back, watching the sky pass by the window, when he got the shock of his life.

"It was Patrick." Pete said absentmindedly, and then looked pointedly at Andy. "You were gonna ask me at some point. I could tell from your face, and the way you've been watching me all afternoon."

"I-" Andy hung his head. "I was gonna ask, yeah. How bad?"

"Very." Pete looked like he was about to cry. "Tortured. He was a maniac. He killed Joe and I'm worried. What if it actually happens?"

"It won't, 'cause we're gonna make sure it doesn't happen." Andy smiled sadly at Pete. "The future isn't certain. Is that your biggest fear?"

"Kind of. It's the fear that my friends will forget me, or people I know will too. That I'll become a ghost. We haven't seen Joe in ages, what if he doesn't remember us? What if he's dead?"

Andy put his hands on Pete's shoulders. "Listen, he's not dead. He's quite well,and he's in California somewhere for the summer, okay? And I promise that I won't forget you, and I'm sure Patrick won't either."

Patrick started to open his eyes, just as the seatbelt sign came on again. "What am I not doing this time?"

"Sleeping apparently." Pete smirked. "I'll make you sleep in the taxi if you aren't careful."

"I don't sleep." Patrick yawned, and they started to descend.

"Uh-huh. Right." Pete nodded. "So what do you do at night."

Patrick wiggled his eyebrows. "Do ya really wanna know."

"Ew!" Andy made a face at Patrick.

"I listen to music and go on my laptop! I was trying to freak you out jeez. Why would I do _that_?"

"You're the one who suggested it!" Andy protested, and Pete started to laugh wildly, until tears rolled down his cheeks.

The laughing stopped quite quickly, because people were staring, so this time the laughing did indeed stop, and soon after the plane landed. A bunch of people started to clap, and Andy looked worriedly to Pete and Patrick. 

"Why do they do that?" The three of them whispered at the same time, and smiled widely at each other.

It was only when they got off the plane and out of the airport that it hit Pete what they must look like. Patrick with his bloody jeans and bandaged leg, Andy with his look of constant fear on his face and Pete with burns stretching all the way up and down his body. It was a surprise that no-one had called the cops, or at the very least airport security.

"C'mon, we should get a taxi." Patrick flagged down one. "Chiron is gonna kill us anyway, what's the sense in being any later?" Patrick smiled devilishly and made his way into the back of the cab, followed shortly by the other two as they sped down the roads to Long Island, to camp, to

_home. ___


End file.
